The morning frost hadn't yet melted when Shin's eyes opened once again.This had become routine—waking earlier than the others, before the noise, before the chatter.
But today, something shifted.
Instead of sitting in silence, Shin stood up.
He faced the center of the room and began to move his limbs gently, imitating stretches and postures he couldn't remember learning.
One, two... breathe... stretch… bend.
The movements were slow, natural—engraved into his body rather than taught to his mind.The cold air kissed his skin, but he didn't flinch.He simply welcomed it, as if greeting an old friend.
Once finished, he made his way to the kitchen.
The hall was still dark. The others hadn't stirred.Yet Shin walked with confidence, his steps deliberate.
His silver-gold hair glinted faintly under the dim ceiling bulb as he entered the kitchen.He took in every detail.
The wooden counters.The clinking of cold pans.The scent of yesterday's rice lingering in the air.
He moved his hand across the countertop, brushing fingertips across every surface, drawer, and handle.
My mind doesn't remember. But my hands… do.
He knelt beside the storage shelves, checking rice levels, vegetable stocks, and oil bottles.He sniffed at the seasonings. Pressed his fingers gently against the aged cutting board.
Everything was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
He sat quietly on one of the kitchen stools.In front of him, a gleaming kitchen knife rested on the rack—light reflecting faintly off its edge.
He waited.
The door slammed open.
"UWAAHH!!"
The girl in charge of breakfast nearly dropped her bucket when she saw him sitting still under the flickering kitchen light.
"D-Don't sit there like a ghost, Shin! You scared me half to death!"
Other kids rushed over at the noise.
"Why's he just sitting there?""Was he… watching the door this whole time?""Creepy…"
The orphanage manager walked in, brows furrowed.
"Shin, you're not allowed in the kitchen without supervision, remember?"
Shin slowly stood, turned toward her, and simply said:
"...Me. Cook. Help."
His expression didn't change.His voice was soft, flat, mechanical.But his eyes—if only for a second—reflected something alive.
The manager and the cook exchanged tired glances.
"...Fine. Just for today. But no scaring people, okay?"
Shin nodded once, wordlessly.
Breakfast
Rice porridge again.Same old ingredients. Same pot. Same fire.
But something… was different.
The aroma wasn't strong, but it lingered longer in the air.Like a whisper you couldn't quite catch.
No one noticed Shin subtly adjusting the flame, stirring at a precise rhythm, or adding a blend of salt and herbs into the broth.Not too much. Just enough to nudge the flavor.
The kids sat and ate.
"...Not bad today.""Still no meat though.""Yeah but it's a little less… bland?"
They shrugged and ate in silence.
Shin, too, sat with his bowl in hand.
He took a spoonful. Then another.
"Not enough."
He muttered under his breath, barely audible.
"Need more… more flavors…"
His eyes gleamed again.
Routine Begins
From that day forward, Shin's morning routine changed.
Stretching.Breathing.Observing the kitchen.
Every morning, he assisted with breakfast.
His strange behavior didn't go unnoticed—but it didn't make him any friends either.
"He's always muttering things…""Is he casting a spell on the soup or something?""What a weirdo."
Shin didn't care.
When he wasn't helping cook, he was found doing slow movements in the corner of the orphanage.Or simply staring blankly outside, unmoving, unbothered by the cold or the teasing.
But the kitchen…
That was where his soul began to stir.
Even though no one realized it, the meals gradually improved.
The porridge was no longer completely dull.The soups held a bit more depth, a slight warmth that clung to the tongue.The curry—once watery—now lingered on the palate.
Children stopped complaining.
Some older orphans even began giving Shin small snacks or leftovers in gratitude—though they chalked it up to "luck" or "better ingredients."
The cook, impressed with the subtle improvements, believed she was finally getting used to the limitations.
Only Shin knew the truth.
Little by little… it gets better.
The orphanage was still the same.No fancy meat. No new budgets. No praise.
But the atmosphere—a little warmer.
The meals—a little brighter.
Meanwhile, Shin sat outside during recess, alone on the porch, his silver-gold hair catching the midday light.
Other kids laughed and played in the snow, unaware of his gaze.
He simply stared at the sky. Silent.
But this time—unlike before—his eyes no longer looked dead.
A small glint of life flickered in them. Subtle.
Like a spark waiting for firewood.